


Ben Wants a Pet

by Ellie226



Series: The Community [13]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Play, Discipline, Multi, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-21 03:55:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12449160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellie226/pseuds/Ellie226
Summary: Spending time at Frankie's house is making Ben think that they might need a pet at his house too.





	Ben Wants a Pet

Matt’s POV

 

I woke up the morning after the ER trip with Ben quietly watching me. Em was still asleep, and I was pleased to hear that her breathing was less raspy than it had been for the last week. Ben was curled on his side, watching us both with wide eyes, thumb in his mouth.

 

“Hey, peanut,” I murmured quietly. “You been awake long?”

 

He shrugged a little, “Dunno. Is Em’ly still sick?”

 

“A little bit,” I told him. “Shall we go downstairs and get some breakfast?”

 

“We’ll bring it up to Em?”

 

Smiling, I gently nudged him toward the edge of the bed, sliding out from underneath Emily and following him to the hallways. Swooping him up onto my hip, I nuzzled his neck, saying, “I’m guessing Miss Em is going to be sleeping for a while, sweetheart.”

 

“She gotta eat,” he insisted, thumb still in his mouth.

 

“I was thinking we should starve her,” I replied airily, taking him downstairs and settling him on a stool in the kitchen. When I saw his expression, I hugged him, apologizing, “Daddy was joking. Sorry, peanut.”   
  
“Wasn’t funny,” he told me severely.

 

“I know,” I agreed. “I’m guessing Em would rather sleep though. I’ll make sure she eats something when she wakes up. But what’s the rule about Emily?”

 

“Never never never wake a sleepin’ Em’ly, less’n you want her to yell,” he said solemnly, thumb finally slipping free.

 

Grinning, I praised, “That’s my smart boy. What do you feel like for breakfast?”

 

He shrugged, and I reminded, “Words.”

 

“I dunno.”

 

“Shall we have eggs or cereal?” I encouraged.

 

“Can I have toast?” he asked quietly.

 

I was surprised. Although Ben had an easier time with asking for things, the fact that he had reverted to shrugs this morning had made me think that it was going to be an either/or day, with me having to suggest options to him.

 

“You can absolutely have toast,” I replied, thrilled to see him asking. “Do you want peanut butter?”

 

He shook his head, “Please butter and strawberry jam?”

 

I was happy to see him asking, but that didn’t seem like the most balanced breakfast, and I started bargaining.

 

“Will you drink some milk and eat a banana for Daddy?”

 

“Choc’late almon’ milk?”

 

“If that’s what you want,” I agreed. 

 

“Yes, thank you,” he told me, reaching for the nearby stack of paper and the small container of crayons. He began coloring, not paying me much attention as I put together a quick breakfast for him. 

 

I sliced up the banana on a plate, poured some chocolate almond milk in a glass, and added two pieces of toast, sliding everything in front of him before I began to pour myself a bowl of cereal.

 

He watched me as I did that, chewing on a piece of toast, “You gotta have fruit too,” he lectured. “And prob’ly some juice.”

 

“I know,” I smiled, grabbing another banana and slicing it over my cheerios before pouring myself a glass of juice.

 

“Not bein’ bossy, Daddy,” he explained seriously. “Breakfast is important. We don’t skip.”

 

It was a frequent discussion, although generally, I was the one insisting, and I nodded, sitting beside him, “We don’t.”

 

We ate breakfast in relative silence, Ben swinging his legs enthusiastically, humming a little as he ate his toast. We finished around the same time, and Ben quickly rinsed his plate and glass, sticking them in the dishwasher.

 

“You gotta check on Em?”

 

“She’ll call,” I told him, putting my bowl and glass in the dishwasher. “Shall we play in the playroom or the living room?”

 

“Playroom?” he asked, taking my hand. “We can color?”

 

He loved art, and I had figured it would either be that, stories, or begging to watch a movie while we cuddled. I followed along behind him, and we settled on the floor of the playroom with some crayons and coloring books.

 

Ben’s POV

 

I felt bad that Emily wasn’t feeling good, but it was kind of nice to have all of Daddy’s attention for myself. He was a good daddy; David would never have sat and colored with me, and Matt could play for hours.

 

“What did you do with Frankie?” he asked me, focused on the paper in front of him.

 

“I telled you,” I said. “‘member? We walked and read stories. Mr. Mac is nice.”

 

“That’s good,” he looked up, smiling, before he returned to his picture.

 

“He said I could come back and play, with you and Em, when Em felt better,” I told him. 

 

“What do you think of doing that?”

 

Looking up, I frowned. Emily called that therapy talk, and I didn’t want Daddy doing it to me. When I didn’t respond, he looked up at me.

 

“Ben?”

 

Frowning, I informed him, “Em says no therapist daddy at home, thank you.” 

 

“I’m not being therapist daddy,” he said. “I’m asking whether you think that would be fun.”

 

Emily had rubbed off on me a little, but not enough to keep arguing with Daddy, so I shrugged, saying, “Maybe,” although I wanted to argue with him about whether he was using his therapy words with me.

 

“Did you have fun last night?” he prodded.

 

I didn’t look at him, focused on my picture as I responded, ‘Yes. ‘cept I got a little sad, but Mr. Mac said next time you an’ Em are goin’ to come with me, so I wouldn’t get sad ‘gain, Daddy.”

 

  
“Why were you sad, peanut?”

 

Daddy had stopped coloring. I wasn’t looking at him, not really, but his crayon wasn’t squeaking on the paper.

 

I tried shrugging, but he wouldn’t let it go.

 

“Words.”

 

“Just missed you an’ Em’ly,” I explained quietly, hurrying on to add, “but I was okay. Mr. Mac sat with me, and Frankie and I looked at pictures of puppies on the iPad, and then I was mostly okay. It was just a little sad.”

 

“I missed you lots,” Daddy told me, reaching over and giving me a tug. “Will you sit on my lap, peanut?”

 

I wouldn’t look at him, but I scooted over and climbed into the familiar embrace. After a minute, I admitted, “I missed you lots, but I was only a little sad. Because you were coming back.”

 

“Plus puppies,” he pointed out. 

 

I nodded at that, “I like that puppy, Daddy. She’s nice.”

 

Matt’s POV

 

“She seemed nice,” I agreed.

 

He didn’t respond to that, and after a minute, I pulled his coloring book over in front of us. I’d wanted to cuddle with him, but he didn’t seem like he wanted to talk anymore. 

 

Ben colored for several  minutes before asking, “Daddy? I got a question.”

 

“Well, then I have an answer,” I replied, kissing the back of his neck. 

 

“How come you an’ Em’ly don’t have any pets?” he asked haltingly.

 

I actually didn’t have a ready answer for that, and it took me a second to formulate something. Finally, I responded, “I guess we’re just not pet people.”

 

“You don’t like ‘em?”

 

“No,” I contradicted. “We don’t dislike them. I had dogs growing up. But Em’s got her allergies and her asthma, and she never had any, so we just never got them.”

 

“Oh,” he said, voice quiet. After a minute, he said, “David didn’t like ‘em.”

 

“Did you have pets when you were little?”

 

“Yeah,” he was still quiet, focused intently on his picture. “We had fish. They’re not cuddly though.”

 

“No, that wouldn’t work too well.”

 

“Em’ly’s allergies would get bad if’n she was ‘round dogs?”

 

He sounded worried, and I gave him a little hug, “I don’t know. Dust makes it worse, and pets tend to make things dustier. We’ve never tried it though.”

 

When he didn’t respond to that, I asked him, “Were you thinking you’d like a pet, peanut?”

 

“Em’ly’s ‘llergic,” he sighed, adding, “It’s okay though. ‘cause Bugs is good at cuddles, but so are you and Em’ly.”

 

Before I could respond to that, a raspy little voice interrupted, “Daddy?” 

 

I looked up, surprised at seeing my wife out of bed. She was swaying a little, and she sounded awful.

 

“What’re you doing out of bed, baby?” I asked, lifting Ben off of my lap with a kiss and going over to her. 

 

“No more bed,” she pouted. “‘m hungry.”

 

“I’ll bring you up something,” I said, trying to turn her toward the door.

 

Even sick, she was pretty coordinated, and she easily ducked out from under my hand, “Nooooooooo,” she whined. “I hate bed. It’s boring.”

 

“I know,” I sympathized. “Let’s get you back upstairs.”

 

“No!” she stomped her foot, hands on her hips. “I said no! You listen!”

 

“Em’ly,” Ben whispered, looking nervous.

 

“It’s okay, peanut,” I smiled at him before fixing Emily with a look. “Don’t stomp at me, please, Emily Anne.”

 

“I don’t want to go to bed,” she whined, hands sliding from her hips. She leaned against me, “I don’t, Daddy. Really. I hate it up there. It’s boring, and it’s lonely, and I don’t feeeeeeelllll gooooooood.”

 

“Oh, Em,” I hugged her, rubbing her back. Ben got up and left, returning a moment later with a glass of water.

 

“Here, Em’ly,” he murmured, handing it to her. “Drink. It’ll make you feel less yucky.”

 

Emily sniffled, taking the glass and sipping delicately, “Thank you,” she mumbled. “Please don’t make me go back upstairs all by myself, Daddy,” she begged pathetically.

 

“I could keep Em comp’ny?” Ben suggested.

 

“It’s okay, peanut,” I smiled at him, over Emily’s head. “I think that if Emily promises to stay on the couch, that we could try staying downstairs. How’s that, Em?”

 

“Okay,” she sniffled, letting go and dragging herself over to the couch. She practically collapsed on it, all of her energy apparently having been used up with fighting.

 

“I’m going to get you something to eat,” I told her, watching as Ben went over to the couch and sat down. He pulled the blanket from the back over her and helped her lay her head in his lap.

 

“‘k, Daddy,” he told me seriously. “I’ll stay with Em’ly.”

 

“Baby, what would you like?”

 

“I don’t know,” she moaned pathetically.

 

Ben watched her, suggesting, “Em’ly likes French toast, Daddy? That would prob’ly make her feel better.”

 

“Em?”

 

She nodded a little, “Please.”

 

It was almost lunchtime anyway, so I figured I’d make enough for all three of us. Ben would keep her occupied; he was good at that.

 

Emily’s POV

 

Ben looked down at me, worried. He was chewing on his lower lip, and I reached up to tap like Daddy does.

 

“No,” I reprimanded quietly. 

 

He stopped immediately, looking guilty, and I smiled up, “‘s’okay, Ben.”

 

“You wanna do something?” he suggested.

 

I shrugged. I was tired, but I was sick of sleeping, and I didn’t want to go back upstairs and be by myself.

 

“You wanna look at puppy pictures?” he suggested. “That’s what me an’ Frankie did last night when I was sad.”

 

That sounded okay, so I nodded, sitting up enough for Ben to scoot off. He returned a moment later with the iPad, pulling up a webpage for us both.

 

“See? That one looks like Bugs,” he explained.

 

We looked through pictures for a little while before I asked, “Did you have a puppy when you were little?”

 

He shook his head, “Just fish.”

 

“You like puppies?”

 

He nodded, smiling a little, “Uh huh. Mr. Mac said we could come over for a playdate. You’ll like Bugs too, Em. She’s real nice, and her head is soft and nice to pet when you’re sad.”

 

Ben sounded so happy when he was explaining that, and I touched his cheek, smiling back at him, “You wan’ a puppy?”

 

“No,” he shook his head fervently, explaining, “Daddy says it would be bad for your allergies. ‘s’okay. Frankie’ll let me play with Bugs.”

 

I let that go, turning back to the pictures of puppies and having Ben show me his favorites. When Daddy came back in with a tray, he shooed Ben off.

 

“Go wash hands please,” he instructed, setting up the meal on the coffee table.

 

Glaring at Matt, I said, “A puppy wouldn’t be bad for my allergies.”

 

“What?” he asked, confused.

 

“A puppy,” I enunciated. “You told Ben it would be bad for my allergies.”

 

“It wouldn’t be good for them,” he pointed out, sitting on the floor. “Come eat some French toast.”

 

I didn’t stop glaring, but I slid down onto the floor and began to eat my breakfast. Ben would be back soon, but I gestured at him with a loaded fork, “This conversation isn’t over.”


End file.
